Somewhere in the
depths of her, too, she was bound to Rachel by the indestructible if
inexplicable ties of sex. "She seems vague, but she's a will of her
own," she said, as if in the interval she had run through her qualities.
The embroidery, which was a matter for thought, the design being
difficult and the colours wanting consideration, brought lapses into the
dialogue when she seemed to be engrossed in her skeins of silk, or, with
head a little drawn back and eyes narrowed, considered the effect of
the whole. Thus she merely said, "Um-m-m" to St. John's next remark, "I
shall ask her to go for a walk with me."
Perhaps he resented this division of attention. He sat silent watching
Helen closely.
"You're absolutely happy," he proclaimed at last.
"Yes?" Helen enquired, sticking in her needle.
"Marriage, I suppose," said St. John.
"Yes," said Helen, gently drawing her needle out.
"Children?" St. John enquired.
"Yes," said Helen, sticking her needle in again. "I don't know why I'm
happy," she suddenly laughed, looking him full in the face. There was a
considerable pause.
"There's an abyss between us," said St. John. His voice sounded as if
it issued from the depths of a cavern in the rocks. "You're infinitely
simpler than I am. Women always are, of course. That's the difficulty.
One never knows how a woman gets there.
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